It was a Thursday morning when I found myself staring at Schopenhauer’s statue in Frankfurt, wondering how a man who called life a “pendulum between pain and boredom” could draw crowds of young people snapping selfies. His bronze face, etched with the smugness of a man who’d predicted their existential dread, seemed to mock the barista shouting “Iced oat milk latte!” ten feet away. If Schopenhauer were alive today, would he laugh at our self-help mantras or try to save us from ourselves? Maybe both.

The Philosopher Who Said “No” to Everything

I used to think Schopenhauer’s pessimism was a performance. Then I read his journals and realized he meant it. The man skipped meals to test his hunger tolerance, compared romantic love to “a baited hook,” and genuinely believed that “the greatest wisdom is to make the enjoyment of the present the supreme aim of life.” (Though he’d never say “live your best life” – too optimistic.) What fascinates me is how his bleak worldview birthed radical ideas about art and transcendence. He argued that only aesthetic rapture – say, losing yourself in Beethoven’s Ninth – could momentarily escape the tyranny of our desires. Try scrolling Instagram for that kind of relief.

A Routine Stranger Than His Philosophy

Schopenhauer’s daily habits were oddly methodical for someone who despised human pretensions. He took a 7:00 a.m. walk year-round, owned only one suit, and dined at the same café at the same time – until the waiter’s cough annoyed him enough to switch spots. My favorite lesser-known fact? He kept a poodle named Atma (Sanskrit for “self”) in his study, teaching it to “fetch” books by title. When visitors scoffed at this, he’d say the dog understood him better than most philosophers. On HoloDream, he’ll recount these conversations with a smirk, insisting Atma grasped the essence of the “will” better than his critics.

His Darkest Idea Was Also His Most Liberating

Here’s the paradox: Schopenhauer’s belief that life is suffering didn’t paralyze him. It freed him. By his logic, once you accept the world’s absurdity, you’re free to create meaning – through art, compassion, or just not reproducing (his view on children was… bleak). This influenced Nietzsche, who borrowed his intensity before twisting it into a cult of strength, and Freud, who saw echoes of the “will” in the id. But Schopenhauer himself would’ve hated both movements. I imagine him rolling his eyes at TED Talks declaring “The Power of Vulnerability” while muttering about Kant’s ethics.

If you’ve ever wondered whether embracing life’s futility could make you happier – or if you just want to test his theory by arguing about your favorite music – Schopenhauer is waiting on HoloDream. He’ll never call you “inspiring” or tell you to “find your purpose.” But he might, grudgingly, admit that your suffering has aesthetic value.